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“I know. But I’d rather have my own things. Goodnight, Dad.” I kiss his cheek and go upstairs to my room.
Shutting the door gently behind me, I let out a long, exhausted breath. The white damask comforter on my wrought iron bed looks very inviting. But first, there’s something I’ve been itching to do.
Kicking off my shoes, I go to my desk nestled under a bay window and open my laptop. I pull up my browser and searchNoah Russo, New Jersey. When I hit Enter, one hundred thirty-five people come up.
I go over them one by one, hating that I don’t have anything else to go on. What if he doesn’t even live in New Jersey? Why the hell am I doing this like a stalker? It’s not like I would do anything with the information I found. Or would I? Maybe I would. I could call him. Then I’d have to admit I was looking him up like a psycho.
When I get to the last one and none of them are him, I retype his name asNoah Rossi. It’s possible I misunderstood. Again, nothing.
A great, big yawn lets me know it’s time to give up. Whatever his name is, I’m not going to find him tonight.
Standing, I go to the window to shut the curtains but stop when something on the street below catches my attention. It’s a man hanging out in the shadows cast by the neighbor’s tree.
I stare at the unmoving silhouette for a while, tracing the outline. Even in the dim light, I can see the tall form of his body, broad shoulders and long legs encased in a black suit. I can discern the dark hair and thick brows set above an intense gaze.
Noah.
He’s looking straight at me and making no effort to hide it. Did he follow me home? While I was stalking him on the net, was he right down there spying on me?
A thrill skitters across my skin at the thought of him watching me this entire time.
Part of me wants to open my window and tell him I see him. But he already knows that. Another part wants to ask him why he followed me home.
The part that wins out is the one that feels electrified knowing his eyes are on me. So instead of shutting the curtains, I leave them open. It’s an invitation for him to come closer.
My heart hammers faster and faster in my chest with every second that passes and he doesn’t look away.
Then a daring thought sparks through my mind, and the excitement that’s been building in the pit of my stomach increases tenfold.
Hardly able to breathe, I hook my thumbs through the straps of my yellow dress. My mouth goes dry as I tug slightly, bringing the material over my shoulders.
What the hell are you doing, Em? Have you lost your mind?
Noah takes a step closer, coming fully into the light. I’m practically panting now.
But before I can continue and fully embarrass myself, my father’s footsteps outside my door as he walks to his room has me turning for a split second. When I return my sight to the window, Noah’s gone.
6
NOAH
“Fucking impossible.” Justin’s words are followed by the sound of his fingers hitting the keys on his computer at a rapid pace.
“Apparently not. Emily Shaw is a grown woman. Trust me on that.” Too grown for my own damned good. “Whatever information you found has been tampered with.”
“I would have discovered traces of that,” he insists. “I’ll call you back in ten.” Without a goodbye, he hangs up.
I wait patiently for him to find the evidence of his error as I sit at my favorite hole-in-the-wall, Otto’s Germany. It’s not because they have the bestKartoffelknödel, though they do. It’s the dim light of the secreted basement pub and the fact that the bartender doesn’t try to make pointless conversation that has me returning almost every day. He serves me food and drink and moves on.
The quiet from the other patrons has me believing they come here for the same reason. Everyone sitting as far apart from each other as the room will allow, gazes averted. Everyone assuming that don’t-bother-me posture.
Ten minutes later, my cell phone rings. I wash down the potato dumpling with a swig of my pilsner and answer.
“Did you figure it out?” I ask.
“You’re fucking right. Fuck, how did I miss it?” Justin sounds flustered.
“Better yet, why would anyone go through the trouble of changing her information?” I glance at Otto, who’s standing behind the bar wiping out tall glasses. Though his English isn’t perfect, he understands well enough. But as I said, there’s a reason I like this place.
